


i can't sleep (i can't speak to you)

by juxtapose



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juxtapose/pseuds/juxtapose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Takes place during STID, after the defeat of Khan) Jim and Spock have a thing going. Sort of. Or, well, Jim thought they might have, because you'd think sharing a bed with someone means you have a Thing, right? But there's a missing piece to their puzzle, and Jim needs to figure it out on his own. In the process, Jim finds out just how exactly Spock has been dealing with his brush with death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can't sleep (i can't speak to you)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, boy. I'm back. It's been a while, hasn't it? Star Trek has taken the internet by storm, and therefore it's taken _me_ by storm. I grew up with it and only now am I realizing how amazing it is. _Star Trek: Into Darkness_ is one of the best action films I've seen, and of course, the Spock/Kirk feelings did not escape my notice.
> 
> This is my first ST fic, Trekkies, so please be gentle. I tried.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing!

Jim awoke to the sound of his alarm obnoxiously nudging him into consciousness.

The last thing he remembered was trailing his fingers along alabaster skin, breathing in a familiar scent that reminded him more of home than anything else in the galaxy.

He was alone under the sheets now. Like usual. The time read 05:00 hours.

As he prepared himself for the day ahead, showering and slipping into Starfleet attire and answering a number of early-morning messages on his PADD, Jim found his thoughts latching on to a few words spoken by a familiar steady, rhythmic voice repeating over and over in his head.

He couldn’t help but wonder if it had just been a product of his dreams in mid-slumber, or if the words really had fallen from Vulcan lips in the silence of the night before . . . 

_I wish to keep you safe._

* * * 

“Well, well. It just got hot in here.”

Captain Jim Kirk let out a low whistle of appreciation as he watched Spock approaching him in a brisk walk down the hall outside his quarters. Grinning cheekily, he crossed his arms in front of his chest when Spock stopped before him, a characteristic eyebrow raised in question.

“I fail to understand,” his First Officer said evenly, “why my presence would be directly correlated to a rise in the Enterprise’s temperature levels. Admittedly, as a half-Vulcan, my body effectively functions at a higher t--”

“--Spock.” Jim shook his head, lifting his hands in defeat, a half-smile of amusement dashing across his lips. “It was just an expression.”

Spock nodded slowly, puffing out his bottom lip just slightly in a half-pout, which the entirety of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ crew had come to realize was his way of processing information that the weird little humans threw at him on the daily. Frankly, Jim found it adorable. “Of course, Captain.”

“Jim,” Kirk corrected, because really, shouldn’t that be a thing by now? And he reached out and lightly touched Spock’s arm. For a moment, the two stood facing one another, burning in each other’s eyes something neither of them really fully understood. Jim lifted his hand from Spock’s arm to gently brush his fingers against the pale sleekness of Spock’s face. Silence reigned between them for what seemed like ages.

Finally, Spock said, “I shall see you on the bridge to run the next set of efficiency tests, Captain,” and was gone before Kirk could say anything in reply.

Jim dropped his hand to his side, let out a sigh, and muttered to himself, “That went well,” before making his way down the corridor after Spock.

* * *

The day Kirk had awoken from a bad case of being dead, with Khan’s blood pumping in his veins, he’d found that there were two things he had certainly not expected, which had happened all the same:

1\. The fact that he was alive to begin with, and  
2\. The fact that Mr. Spock, upon seeing him awake, had promptly decided the best course of action was to lean forward onto the bed enough that he was practically crushing Kirk, and kiss him full on the mouth for nearly five full seconds. (Jim would know. He’d replayed the memory enough to calculate just _how long_ Spock’s lips were on his own.)

It had started out platonically enough, or so Jim recollected.

_“You saved my life. Thank you.”_

_“You are welcome, Jim.”_

And then Bones, after going into full Mother Hen mode for a few minutes, had run off to do this or that with a, “If I come back and you’re not resting I’m gonna kick your ass to next Tuesday,” which was all fine, and then it had been only Jim and Spock. And then suddenly Spock had been _kissing_ him, and hell if Kirk knew what to do with that besides _kiss back_ , and, whoa, is that how a Vulcan’s tongue actually feels, because _damn_.

When McCoy had finally deemed him fit enough to exist somewhere outside the white walls of sickbay, Kirk and Spock had sort of fallen into a routine. The _Enterprise_ went in for repairs, reports were made, rest was caught-up on. And every night, Spock would come to Kirk’s temp-quarters, and they would simply lay there, side-by-side, sometimes touching hands or twining legs. They spoke in whispers. It was honestly the most intimate thing Jim had ever been a part of.

(When he awoke, though, Spock was always gone.)

Now, getting the _Enterprise_ and her crew up and running again for the possibility of a five-year mission in the works, was the main priority. Jim spent most of his time on the ship with various members of various shifts of his crew, making test runs and working with Scotty to ensure the efficiency of the ship. Spock remained by his side all the while, and it seemed the only consistent aspect of Jim’s constant running about was falling asleep feeling the heat of Spock’s body next to his, propped up against the headboard.

But Jim and Spock had not kissed since that evening in sickbay, almost one month ago. All the undefined dynamic between them seemed to allow were touches in the hall and in the dark, fleeting, to a point where Jim was afraid he couldn’t even feel them anymore sometimes. Every time he leaned in just a bit too close, a flicker of--panic? Fear?--something very _un_ Vulcan made its way into Spock’s expression--which, for the poster-child of non-emotionality, was kind of a big deal.

Kirk liked to think he was an expert at wooing. He could charm his way in and out of any situation, and most people who knew _him_ damn well knew _that_.

(Once at the Academy he’d jokingly made a pin out of scrap metals to award himself for Most Women in Tiny Dormitory Bed at One Time. He’d asked Bones to oversee the award ceremony. Bones had not been amused.)

But this was not _women_. This was _Spock_. An entirely different caliber in every respect, and Jim had no idea where to begin. Had he done something wrong to cause Spock to retreat so drastically, after such a display of, well, _affection_? There was so much bubbling up inside Jim’s very core, so much he wanted Spock to understand. Now it seemed he was in a loop of _almosts_ with Spock that he couldn’t seem to escape.

(Like the almost-touch of glass separating two trembling hands, one of them formed in the Vulcan salute--a memory engraved in Jim’s brain.)

* * *

First thing’s first, Jim thought, I gotta go talk to Bones.

Jim needed to sort out what was going on in his head; in order to handle things with Spock he figured it was best to figure out just what he _himself_ was feeling about the whole--whatever it was between them. The thing about Leonard McCoy was that however long he bemoaned having to listen to your personal problems, he always had a great bit of advice to share at the end of things. It was an attribute Jim valued very highly in his Chief Medical Officer. 

He was about to turn the corner to sickbay when he heard hushed voices near what he knew was its entrance. Jim paused, curiosity getting the better of him, and intensifying when he recognized not only Bones’ voice--but Spock’s. To hear the two talking in anything other than annoyed, argumentative tones was certainly a surprise.

_“ . . . It seems that the lack of sleep is finally taking its toll, Doctor. I would not ask you for advice if I did not think this development would jeopardize my ability to perform my duties here.”_

Jim froze, his mind frantically straining to recall any memory of seeing Spock _asleep_ beside him in the last month or so. Coming up with nothing, he realized that he’d been next to Spock, tangled in Spock, _with_ Spock, always, but had always let sleep take him over _before_ he had any opportunity to notice whether Spock did or not.

He recalled Spock saying in the midst of one of their up-all-night conversations that Vulcans required very little sleep, which was why he’d never questioned it before. But now . . . 

_“I understand that, Spock, I do,” was Bones’ voice, “But I just don’t think the sleeping aids I have here would work on that green blood of yours. I know for a fact that Vulcans can go a week or two without proper rest. How long did you say--”_

_”Almost two months, Doctor. I have not slept in almost two months.”_

_“Well, shit.”_

Well shit, indeed, thought Jim.

_“You’re practically running on empty, man. It’d be hard enough for a Vulcan alone to withstand exhaustion like this, nevermind one who’s half-human--”_

_“I am well aware of my circumstances, Dr. McCoy. Hence my coming to you.”_

Jim heard Bones sigh in exasperation. _“Wish I could be of more help. Is there anything you can think of that brought this on? Y’know, sometimes traumatic experiences--”_

 _“I would rather not say. Thank you for your time.”_ That was Vulcan for, ‘leave me the hell alone’; Jim could almost hear Spock clasp his hands behind his back resolutely, and his suspicions were confirmed as he heard footsteps drifting farther and farther away.

So. Spock couldn’t sleep. Spock hadn’t slept in ages. Spock was _tired_ and probably confused and frustrated and Jim had been entirely oblivious to all of it.

He needed answers. If Spock wasn’t going to provide them, Jim had to seek them out himself.

* * *

“So . . . Uhura. Wacky question for ya.”

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura stood in the doorway of the break room, leaned against the frame and peering at Kirk with questioning eyes. “Something tells me this has nothing to do with the progress of the ship’s upgraded communicators.” She gave him a half-grin, a sign to Jim that it was alright to proceed with the personal inquiries he’d called her over for. She was off-duty, anyway, Jim figured, and next to Bones, Nyota was certainly someone on the crew Jim felt he could be open with.

Unless he got on her bad side for whatever reason. He’d learned that the hard way, multiple times over.

Jim flopped down in a chair, leaning back and clasping his hands behind his head. “If you don’t mind my asking--how did you and Spock, well . . . end things?”

The surprise in Uhura’s eyes indicated to Jim that she had by no means been expecting to have a conversation of this nature at the end of her shift. Jim hadn’t exactly planned on spending his leisure-time sneaking around to find out just what the hell to do about his Vulcan cuddle-buddy, either, so there was that. The point was, Jim had initiated his . . . interest in Spock with the knowledge that he and Uhura had broken up (Jim was not a homewrecker, thank you very much. At least he hadn’t been in a long while. But those are stories for another time). He figured something must have happened that triggered their separation, and in order to figure out just what was going on with Spock that he wasn’t telling Jim, he figured he had to be stealthy and figure things out through the only other person Spock had really ever opened up to.

“Well,” Uhura said, looking not hurt or resentful, but merely thoughtful, which was encouraging to Jim, at least, “After we managed to get Khan back to the ship so that Dr. McCoy could use his blood to revive you--”

(Which was still totally weird, by the way.)

“--we put him in his pod with the others, and then it was just a matter of waiting. For you to wake up, I mean, after the blood transfusion. During that time, Spock . . . changed.”

Jim sat up, intrigued. “Changed how?”

“Well, we were all so worried about you. _I_ was worried about you.” Jim tilted his head to the side, giving her a look he hoped reflected his appreciation for her concern, for her friendship . . . Jim had never been good with words, so he usually defaulted to big-blue-doe-eyed looks instead. “And normally when I got all--well, _emotional_ , Spock did his thing. His way of comforting. You know what I mean. He’d try to rationalize things, put the situation into perspective. It was almost irritating.”

“Don’t I know it,” Jim muttered, shaking his head.

“--Anyway, he didn’t do that. In fact, he refused to talk about what happened at all. Whenever I tried to bring up what went on between you two when you were in the radiation chamber, he would change the subject. It was crazy. And then he started losing sleep--”

“Wait . . . he wasn’t sleeping?” Jim tried in vain to hide the surprise in his voice.

“Vulcans only need about three or four hours a night, or so he tells me,” Uhura explained, walking over to sit on the edge of the table in front of Jim. “But he wasn’t even getting _that_. I was worried for him--that was always my problem, I guess; I worried too much about him. It was the most detached I had ever seen him. And considering how crazy he went over what Khan did to you . . . Captain, you should have seen him. He almost ripped Khan to shreds.”

Jim nodded. “I know. Bones filled me in when I woke up . . . if it hadn’t been for your intervention I’d probably be pushing up daisies.”

“I’m not asking for recognition, Jim.” Uhura’s tone was soft, now. “I’m asking you to understand. I’m the one who broke it off with Spock, you know. Not the other way around. Do you want to know why?”

Jim said nothing, sensing the heavy emotion behind her voice.

“Because I knew I was wasting my time, and his. It was the right thing to do for both of us. Because the one person I knew who could ever evoke the humanity in Spock, the parts of him that the rest of us sometimes doubt even exist . . . is you.” She smiled, a little sadly, and Jim felt a lump become lodged in his throat. “It was always you, Captain.”

* * *

Spock did not come to Jim’s quarters that night. Jim pretended that he didn’t care, but an ache was starting to form in him, buzzing underneath his skin, that he couldn’t shake.

He didn’t sleep. He wasn’t sure if it was because he missed the presence next to him, or if it was due to the knowledge that Spock wasn’t getting any sleep wherever he was, either.

* * *

When Jim walked into sickbay, McCoy was in the middle of writing up a review of the newly-installed diagnostics software, and, well, that meant he had time for a chat, because fuck, reports were boring.

“So, has the Chief Medical Examiner’s job description changed to ‘keep important information from the Captain?’”

McCoy whirled around in his chair, brow raised. “What the hell are you on about, Jim?”

He put on his best Authoritative Voice. “It’s come to my attention that Spock’s paid you a visit or two. Even though the ship is in the process of renovations, I’m still her captain. Shouldn’t I be notified if my First Officer is showing clear signs of stress?”

Bones shot him a look that clearly said, ‘I’m not buying this bullshit,’ and replied, “Doctor-Patient Confidentiality, Jim. Look it up.” He added, turning back to his paperwork and collection of obnoxiously purring Tribbles, “You could just tell me you’re worried about him instead of beating around the bush.”

Jim sighed, running his hands over his face. “Jesus.” He collapsed onto an examination table theatrically, legs dangling off the lower edge.

He heard Bones let out a long breath, dropping his utensils and putting down his PADD. “All right, kid.” He turns his head slightly. “Lay it on me. People around here can’t seem to remember that I’m a _medical doctor_ , not a damn _therapist_ \--”

Jim cut him off with a groan of agitation. “For a guy who rarely emotes, Spock is fucking _complicated._ ”

“Sounds to me like the complications exist on both ends,” Bones muttered.

Jim sat up, frowning. “What’s that mean?”

“Well, it isn’t as if the crew is oblivious to it, Jim. You two, I mean.”

Shit. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, with the way the man looks at you, Jim, the rest of us would have to be blind not to notice it.” Bones turned fully in his chair to face Jim, looking at him seriously. “So, you two have been . . .” He trailed off, and to save him from his awkwardness, Jim quickly supplied:

“It’s not what you think. At least . . . I mean . . . shit, I don’t _know_ , Bones. I wanted it to be. I thought he wanted it to be, but . . . we’re at a standstill. I can’t figure him out. And you’re right . . . I don’t think I’ve figured _myself_ out either. I guess . . . ” He lay back again, closing his eyes. “He’s . . . he’s my best friend, really-- _besides_ you; don’t give me that look.” Jim rolled his eyes at Bones’ narrowed ones. “The point is he knows me better than anyone, and I . . . God, all we do is talk, all night, or just listen to the sound of each other breathing and I . . . I don’t mind it at all. In fact it’s . . . I’ve never been like that with anyone. I didn’t know that I could be, until him.”

Bones leaned back in his chair. “There you have it.”

“I wish it were that simple.” His eyes popped open again, a slight haze coming over them as memories filled his present mind. “Dying really puts your life in perspective, Bones, and . . . he was with me, in the end, and all I could think was that it was . . . a perfect way to go. Knowing he was there. Despite how scared I was.” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut once more and bringing two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I just really wish you’d told me what he was going through; I could have done something--”

“Dammit, Jim, if I knew what was causing Spock’s many sleepless nights, believe me, I’d be helping him out, even though he’s a right pain in my ass. There’s a missing piece to all of it, though, and he won’t tell me what it is. But why are you beating yourself up over this?”

“It’s because I--” The realization hit him, square in the face, with enough force to nearly send him flying off the table. He sits up, swinging his legs over the edge. “Shit, Bones, I love him. I fucking love him. I don’t want him to be alone in whatever he’s dealing with.”

Bones nodded knowingly, moving to stand across from Jim, clasping his shoulders. “Yeah, I thought so.”

It took Bones’ steadying of Jim’s shoulders for the latter man to realize he was shaking.

“Well, don’t just stand there whining to me about it. Go tell him.” McCoy spoke as if it were the most obvious conclusion to make, as if the idea of it didn’t send waves of nervousness and panic through Jim’s every pore, “Now if you’ll excuse me, this Tribble isn’t going to diagnose itself. I should hope not, anyway. Then I’d be out of a damn job.” He gave Jim’s arms a squeeze, and turned back to his work.

The nonchalant attitude was Bones’ way of pushing Jim out of his comfort zone. As Jim stormed out of sickbay, he hoped like hell that he’d be able to thank him for it later.

* * * 

He all but burst into his quarters, and sure enough, there was Spock, sitting on Jim’s bed placidly, analyzing on his PADD what appeared to be some kind of scientific equation concerning genetic makeups of species. “Hello, Jim,” he said.

Well. Jim decided he’d had quite enough of that.

“We need to talk,” he retorted firmly.

Spock’s dark eyes pierced through Jim’s own. “I recall Nyota beginning some of our conversations in the same manner, and can therefore conclude its subject matter will not be of a particularly pleasant nature. Am I correct?” When Jim said nothing, he added, “I take it this is in regard to the conversation which transpired between myself and Dr. McCoy yesterday afternoon? I apologize that I did not come to your quarters. I assumed it would make for an . . . awkward situation.”

“Wait, you knew I was--” Jim blinked, stupefied for a moment until he realized just exactly what species he was dealing with. “Damn Vulcan super-hearing . . .”

“Indeed. I heard you approaching from a significant distance away. I could only logically conclude it was you by the shuffle of your boots. You do recall how often I--”

“Tell me to pick up my feet; yeah, I know, thanks _Mom_.” Jim shook his head, and then, realizing Spock was cleverly trying to avert the subject, promptly crossed his arms and put on his best I’m-the-Captain-So-Do-What-I-Say glare. “Okay, seriously, though. Why didn’t you tell me, Spock?”

The Vulcan lowered his eyes to his PADD, absently gliding his fingers across the screen this way and that. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean--”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Jim interjected, “The insomnia, Spock. Why didn’t you tell me you haven’t been sleeping? It’d be nice to know, considering we’ve been sharing a bed for the past month.”

“I did not think it concerned you,” was Spock’s flat reply.

“Didn’t think--” Jim gaped incredulously for a moment before taking a deep breath, charging forward and snatching the PADD from Spock’s grasp, tossing it to the other side of the bed. “You know, for someone who supposedly runs on logic, you’re incredibly thick most of the time. Don’t you get it? If it concerns you, it concerns me.”

“And how is that?” Jim was practically reeling with frustration knowing that Spock was genuinely asking the question, not out of malice but out of sheer curiosity. Spock truly wondered why Jim had any reason to look out for him. It made something in the pit of Jim’s stomach lurch. He managed a reply, trying to level out the tremor in his voice:

“Because I _care_ about you. If I didn’t, this--” He made a flailing gesture between them, “--between us wouldn’t be happening.” Jim sat down on the bed beside Spock, nudging his shoulder. “Come on. Even if it’s just . . . as your friend, I want to help you.”

Spock finally met eyes with Jim again, and by the looks of it, a number of emotions were threatening to make their way above the surface of his expression. He was doing a good job of keeping them at bay, however, as his spoke calmly as ever: “If the past one-point-five months have been any indication, I do not believe I can regard you as a mere friend any longer.”

“Oh?” Jim gulped audibly.

“The term would not suffice.”

Jim’s mouth felt dry. Spock shifted so that he faced Jim fully, looking at him head-on. “Since your brush with death, Jim, I have been experiencing nightmares.” He said the words as if he were discussing the weather on Planet M-49X or the _Enterprise_ ’s new paintjob. “Dreams, of course, are irrational. They are rooted in the nonsensical aspects of the human subconscious in the process of REM sleep. We Vulcans do not take the time analyze our dreams--a common pastime for humans, I have noted--for there is no logic in them. Though I am beginning to suspect that the human emotions I elect to set aside on the daily, manifest themselves in my subconscious.”

Silence draped over them for a few moments. Finally, Jim mucked up the courage to ask: “What do you dream about?”

Spock opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. It was very odd to see him second-guessing himself, for it had always seemed to Kirk that Spock reveled in his ability to apply his logic and calculations to every situation. “May I show you?” he asked, hesitation in his voice.

Jim knew what this meant, of course. He boldly reached out for Spock’s right hand, bringing it to rest in a spread-out position on the side of his face, two fingers brushing at his temple. “Go ahead.” He was almost in surprise of his own voice, gravelly and barely above a whisper.

Spock closed his eyes, and Jim did, too. Soon, Kirk found himself thrust into a Vulcan mind-meld, his senses heightened, his consciousness entered into by the familiar warmth that was Spock . . .

_Jim sees an image of himself on the other side of glass fade into view, but it is not a reflection._

_“I’m scared, Spock,” he hears himself say, hoarse and vulnerable. He realizes then that he’s watching his own death, from Spock’s perspective. On the Weirdness Scale, this is definitely a 10 . . ._

_His thoughts sober up when he begins to channel Spock’s emotions, taking him over, falling on him like rain, sprinkled with complicated contradictions and surges of feeling. There is hurt--overwhelming hurt, mixed with confusion and bubbling rage and . . . affection._

_“Do you understand? Why I couldn’t let you die? Why I went back for you?”_

_Jim remembers how badly he’d wanted Spock to realize how much he cared for him. How much it meant to him that as he took his final breaths, Spock was there, beside him, like always . . ._

_He feels himself, as Spock, choke out the words, each syllable an even further realization: “Because you are my friend.” Jim hears Spock’s thoughts as clearly as if they are his own, recognizes the longing to touch through the glass, and the fact that he had not felt real, hot tears on his face in decades._

_Jim watches the light dim in his own blue eyes--a strange experience. His own brief thoughts, though, are overrun by Spock’s utter agony, tearing into him like a blade to his skin, searing, and it’s too much,_ too much _and Jim can no longer discern where he ends and Spock begins because knowing this, knowing the pain Spock was and is experiencing, is enough to make him tremble--_

He opened his eyes. Spock was looking at him, and Jim felt the sensation of his fingers brushing lightly against his temple. Jim took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions at bay, tears lodged behind his eyes and in his throat.

“Upon extensive reflection, I suppose the dreams are recollections more than night terrors. However, one hundred percent of my attempts to acquire rest have ended in this manner,” Spock said, letting his hand fall to his lap, and, God, it hurt Jim to see him this way. He knew he should say something . . . but what does one say to a usually emotionless Vulcan about the emotions that dreams carry? How could he make this better?

Suddenly, Spock’s voice lowered and something like concern filled his brown eyes. “I want to protect you, Jim.” _I wish to keep you safe_ , Jim’s mind echoed. “As your First Officer, as your friend, as your . . .” He trailed off. “But each time I relive these memories, I am reminded that I cannot.” He shook his head. “These . . . emotions. I spend most of my time trying in vain to keep them in check. When I am next to you, at night, listening to you breathe, I know you are safe. It is my only solace.”

A quiet fell over them again, and Jim nodded slowly. Knowing, and thinking about Spock’s perspective on that intimate moment between them almost two months ago, understanding it was what kept him awake at night, he now knew what he had to do. Keeping quiet any longer would get neither of them anywhere.

He clasped his fingers around Spock’s shoulders firmly. The Vulcan seemed a little surprised at the gesture, so Jim loosened his grip, sliding his hands to cup under his elbows. “I think I understand now, Spock. You really have no idea, do you?”

Spock tilted his head to the side. “Idea, Jim?”

“Of how important you are. To me, to this ship . . .” He shifted forward a little. “All this stuff keeping you awake at night? That’s called guilt. _Misplaced_ guilt. You can’t blame yourself for what happened, Spock, I’m . . . I’m fine. I’m here. And that’s because of you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what happened either, because I wouldn’t _be_ here without you, and honestly, I wouldn’t want to be. Dying was . . . it was terrifying. But I couldn’t help but think that as long as you were there, it was . . . fine.” Looking Spock firmly in the eyes, he went on, “That day . . . we both changed, I think. We both realized what we wanted. And we freaked out about it, in our own ways. You took a step back, to analyze it all, and I tried to play it cool. But the fact is, Spock, I’m pretty damn sure we need each other. Why should it be so complicated?” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “You don’t have to deal with the nightmares alone.”

The emotionality of the statement hovered in the air between them. Jim watched Spock carefully (and, admittedly, a little nervously); the Vulcan said nothing at first, clearly trying to process everything he’d just heard.

After a few beats of silence, Jim started to panic a little. He released his grip on Spock’s arms, shaking his head. “Maybe that was a bit too . . . look, sorry, we can just . . . I mean, you kissed me before, and I’m pretty sure we both enjoyed it, or maybe I’m just . . . I mean, we can just _forget_ it ever happened if you--”

He cut himself off as Spock took Jim’s hands in his, linking the first two fingers of each of his hands with Jim’s. “It would be . . . illogical to attempt to forget, Jim.”

Illogical? More like impossible. Jim stared down at their hands, then looked up at Spock, whose eyes were wide and whose lips were parted ever so slightly, and Jim . . . well. Jim wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity when it was handed to him.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against the heat of Spock’s, closing the space between their bodies. Much to his relief, Spock did not pull away; rather, he let himself be lowered onto his back against the pillows as Jim fully entwined their hands, raising them to rest above Spock’s head, but never letting go.

Spock uttered a low, almost animalistic growl of what Jim hoped like hell was appreciation for the fact that he was pressing his entire body against Spock’s, fitting himself between the Vulcan’s knobby knees and chewing on Spock’s lower lip. “You--” he mumbled in between kisses, “don’t--have--to be--alone--anymore.”

“I want to protect you,” Spock repeated, lids heavy over his clouded eyes.

Jim tilted his head to trail kisses down and up Spock’s neck. “We can protect each other,” he breathed, nibbling a little at the tip of Spock’s ear, which sent a clear shudder through him that vibrated through Jim’s very bones.

He’d always been aware of how much he wanted this. But as Spock, with his infinite strength, shifted so he was pinning Jim down against the sheets, protectively breathing in Jim’s scent burrowed in the nape of his neck, muttering Jim’s name over and over in his voice smooth as silk, Kirk realized this was a whole new level of desire.

It was a want not only for this person and every atom of which he was constructed, but for a new start. A buzzing, curious, wonderful change in them both that was beginning here and now.

_Do you understand now? Why I couldn’t let you die? Why I went back for you?_

Because Spock was, and always had been, his friend. And much more than that . . . 

He let his tongue flick against every bit of Spock’s skin he could reach, hoping he could will away the nightmares, the so very human guilt. He hoped the two words he could manage before he let them descend into the sheets and into each other, conveyed it all:

“You’re everything.”

* * * 

Jim lay propped up on his elbow, watching Spock sleep. If he had to describe the sight to anyone, he’d essentially call it an oxymoron.

Spock was on his back, arms folded behind his head (usually he lay his hands across his stomach in slumber in an almost defensive form of repose, but Jim found that Spock had become a lot more relaxed these days and tended to show it during times when even his Vulcan senses were unaware of Jim’s watching). He breathed evenly in and out; Jim studied the rise and fall of his chest. His head was tilted slightly toward Jim’s face, and he wore an expression of lackadaisical tranquility that Jim found kind of beautiful in its rarity. In these moments Spock, this ever-calculating, ever-thinking enigma, was relaxed and vulnerable and goddamn gorgeous.

Shit, Jim had it bad, didn’t he?

Spock hadn’t experienced a single night terror in almost half a year. Jim, on the other hand, was plagued with them on occasion--he was only human, after all--but while he jolted awake panting, shaking, silently weeping, mind gasping for life and reassurance--he never woke from them alone. It was a nice change--for both of them.

“You have been staring at me for six point three-five minutes.”

Spock’s voice cut into Jim’s musings, and he nearly jumped. Spock’s eyes remained closed and he continued to lie still; if Jim hadn’t so clearly heard him speak, he thought he might’ve imagined it. He looked down bashfully, feeling his face grow hot. “Oops. Sorry. I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. However, I felt your heart rate change, which roused me. Furthermore, an apology is unnecessary.” Spock opened his eyes. “I do not mind.” There was a hint of a smile on his lips--or as close to a smile as Spock ever emoted, anyway. Jim decided it was close enough and he’d take it, before promptly leaning over and kissing it right off his mouth.

“Admit it, Spock. You love it. This.” _Me_? he added mentally, because, okay, Spock was Vulcan, he didn’t expect him to _say_ it, but it wasn’t as if he’d hate it if he did. Not one bit, actually.

Spock said nothing, which was what Jim expected. What he hadn’t expected, though, was this: Spock made to sit up, leading Jim to do the same, and held out his hand in the Vulcan salute Jim knew by heart. Jim reached to meet his touch, mirroring the placement of his fingers. The familiarity of the moment was not lost on either of them.

There was no glass separating them, now. There never would be again.

Spock said, “You are everything.”

It was not a mad, ostentatious declaration of feeling. Spock did not operate that way. Rather, it was a refrain of Jim’s words months ago. It was a promise. Together, they were everything. And that, Jim thought, was more than enough.


End file.
